


Calling Shots

by virusq



Category: Lupin III, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Alcohol, Bets & Wagers, Crack, Crack Crossover, Drinking Games, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, I Blame Tumblr, Let's face it no one is surprised, M/M, Spin the Bottle, Tumblr Prompt, i didn't ask for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virusq/pseuds/virusq
Summary: It’s a drunken game for drunken spacers: an adult take on the schoolyard spin-the-bottle.Step one: Line up shots.Step two: Pick a partner.Step three: Place your bets.
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III/Talon Karrde, Aves/Fujiko Mine
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Calling Shots

**Author's Note:**

> ThievingGentleman posted a muse challenge and I took the bait. Unfortunately for you, these gentlemen live in my head rent free.

It’s a drunken game for drunken spacers: an adult take on the schoolyard spin-the-bottle. 

Step one: Line up shots.

Step two: Pick a partner.

Step three: Place your bets.

Step four: Take the shot.

Step five: Kiss your partner.

Step six: Your partner guesses the mystery liquid. On a successful guess, you get another shot. On a failed guess, you buy the next round. If your duo accurately calls the shots, you win the pot – and, well, someone else covers your shift because you’re not going anywhere for awhile.

The game doesn’t normally draw quite a crowd. There’s a new gang on the ship: a con-man and his inner-circle of three. There’s a side bet about the group’s dynamic but no one’s managed to get a straight answer from any of them. They’re the right people for the job, though, or they wouldn’t be on the ship.

On paper, Aves is the favorite. The blond man is one of the best partners to have, given he signs-off on provisioning. He has an unfair advantage for taking the pot and thus getting partner(s) off … shift. Aves, however, has a distinct and predictable weakness: he challenges the busty redheaded newcomer to be his partner. If he loses, he gets a kiss. If he wins, he gets three. There is no fallacy in his logic and the entire crew hoots in agreeance.

Chin lines up the shots and Aves downs the first drink. He shakes his head, the burn a little heavy after the evening’s revelries, and slaps his hands on the table. He leans across the table and Fujiko Mine meets him in the middle. Her long lacquered nails rake through his hair as she prolongs the exchange, much to the amusement of the surrounding pirates. She breaks the kiss and almost drops Aves, who sways precariously before the crew braces him upright on both sides.

“Whatta ya got, Fuji cakes?” Lupin asks, his feet propped on the table.

The woman licks her lips and runs her fingers across them, thinking. She leans on the table, her eyes drifting upward in thought, and the entire room following her every micro-movement. “Mm. Too scruffy. I don’t like him.”

The room howls at her assessment. She isn’t playing the same game as the pirates.

“The drink, woman,” Jigen growls.

“Oh!” Fujiko bubbles, entirely aware what kind of scene she’s orchestrating. She waves her hand and shrugs her shoulders dismissively. “I don’t know. A Moscow Mule?”

The collective howls in pain as the woman bats her eyelashes and returns to her seat.

“My turn!” Lupin declares. 

Their ringleader – a wiry gentleman in a brightly colored suit with sideburns that were in fashion in Imperial Academies about thirty years ago – sits up and cocks a fingergun, pointing it through the crowd with a sharp-shooter squint at his target. The crowd follows the line of action to the opposite end of the galley, where an older gentleman with grey-streaked hair and an air of butler-stoicism is pouring a cup of caf, removed from the scene. 

The man looks up, ice-blue eyes lifting and absorbing the fact his entire crew has gone silent, staring directly at him with baited breath. He sips his caf, considers the scene, and sets the mug down on the counter.

“Alright, line them up,” he commands, approaching the table as the crew parts like an adoring crowd.

Chin blinks twice, then lines up three shots. An electric silence sweeps the table, the gentleman thief and goateed professional sizing each other up across an array of glittering stimulants.

Lupin downs the first shot and leans across the table. Karrde meets him in the middle. It’s almost the opposite of the display Aves and Fujiko made: the gears behind both men’s eyes turning on full burn as they consider the challenge. They part and Lupin bats his eyelashes playfully, his brown eyes sultry. Karrde frowns. “Akivan rice whisky. Dunari province.”

Chin nods and the crowd hoots. Karrde’s expression remains neutral. Lupin flashes him a flirtatious eyebrow wiggle.

Lupin downs the second shot. They repeat the process. This time, Lupin’s fingers make their way across the table into Karrde’s shirt, fiddling with a button. Karrde claps a firm hand around it and parts, turning to Chin. “Chin, who authorized Alderaanian brandywine for this rabble.”

“Province!” Aves squeaks.

Karrde flashes him a look of betrayal. “Sweetgrass Valley. Aged.”

The cheer is deafening.

There’s something about the man that is increasingly alarming: his long fingers, playful fashion, disarming charm. Karrde presses his lips together in a stern frown, suspicious of the unnatural charm of the opposing thief. It’s a long con but the stars aligned too well: he gets the distinct impression he’s being played and he doesn’t like it.

Or maybe he does.

Lupin cracks his neck and stretches his arms in a series of elaborate poses before picking up the last shot. He maintains eye contact as he presses the shot glass to his cheek and rolls it past his lips with a quick tilt, dropping the empty glass into his opposite hand like a magician bartender.

Karrde knows this shot by smell but their mouths meet anyway: he’s never seen the crew so ecstatic and that fact fuels his inner psychologist.

A roving tongue presses against his teeth and he drops the man on the table with a thud. Karrde turns to Chin with an impetuous scowl. “Hitched Hawkbat? How in hell did that rotgut make it onto my ship? It doesn’t even have a province.”

Chin dodges his glance with an embarrassed flush in his cheeks.

Lupin cups his chin in his hands and leans across the table affectionately. “Your place or mine, Captain?”

Karrde stares down at the man through furrowed brows. He grabs Lupin’s collar and pulls him across the table, an edge of impatience creeping into the previously playful display. “Neither. You’re going in the brig until I sort out how many of my men you’ve bribed.”

Lupin giggles. “Kinky.”


End file.
